


Distractions

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun
Genre: Blushing, Established Relationship, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nozaki always intends to focus on work when it’s just the two of them, but it’s rare for him to even get paper spread out over the table before Mikoshiba blurts, 'Do you want to make out?' and Nozaki says instantly 'Yes,' and they never recollect themselves once they get started." Mikoshiba is embarrassed and Nozaki is warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions

Nozaki gets a lot less done with Mikoshiba since they started kissing.  
Not that he’s complaining. He’s still keeping up with his deadlines, even it’s more of a chore now than it used to be. It’s just that all the work he gets done he does solo, or on the rare occasions that Sakura or Hori is over so he and Mikoshiba aren’t alone. He always  _intends_  to focus on work when it’s just the two of them, but it’s rare for Nozaki to even get paper spread out over the table before Mikoshiba blurts, “Do you want to make out?” and Nozaki says instantly “Yes,” and they never recollect themselves once they get started.

Today Nozaki didn’t even wait for Mikoshiba to offer. They both know where this is going anyway, have known since they left school and kept bumping their fingers together on the walk home. Nozaki isn’t sure if Mikoshiba wants to take his hand, or maybe he really is just walking closer than he intends and the contact is accidental; he wonders about it the whole way back to his apartment, but once the door comes open his focus is skipping ahead, past dropping his bag on the floor and shoving the door closed, and then his mouth is half-against Mikoshiba’s and whatever the other boy might have intended is lost in the muffled whine he makes against Nozaki’s mouth.

Nozaki pulls back for a moment, once he has that first flush of heat to warm his mouth, reaches for the strap of Mikoshiba’s bag because the other boy is too busy turning crimson to think about setting his things down. Nozaki takes the weight off his shoulder, offers a needless, “Here,” as he pulls it up over the other boy’s head; Mikoshiba is only just catching on to the movement, just starting to reach to help, when Nozaki gets the bag free and tosses it aside with a total lack of consideration for what’s inside. Mikoshiba’s brow furrows, he opens his mouth to protest -- and then Nozaki is sliding his hand over the other boy’s jaw, curling in against the back of his neck, and whatever complaint Mikoshiba had melts away along with the concern in his forehead, dissolves into compliance under Nozaki’s touch. This time, when Nozaki dips his head Mikoshiba tips his chin up to meet him, offers his lips up for the other boy with an underlying expectation that brings a flush to his skin even before Nozaki has bridged the distance and brought their lips together.

Mikoshiba is always radiant with heat. Maybe it’s just because the other boy is always so close to a blush that his skin is constantly hot with expectation; Nozaki isn’t sure why, exactly, but kissing Mikoshiba always flushes his whole body warm until he feels like he’s glowing, like he’s borrowing Mikoshiba’s color until it tinges even his pale skin with pink. Nozaki leans in without thinking; he doesn’t even realize he’s pushing Mikoshiba back until the other boy offers a muffled whine and stumbles backward a step until he runs into the wall. Nozaki thinks briefly about pulling back, maybe offering some kind of apology, but Mikoshiba is relaxing back against the support, bringing his hands up to Nozaki’s shoulders and parting his lips, and Nozaki promptly rejects the idea in favor of pushing in harder, pinning Mikoshiba against the wall by the advantage of his broader shoulders, his extra inches of height, his hold on the other’s hair.

There’s not any active thought under Nozaki’s movements. He’s not deliberately grabbing a handful of Mikoshiba’s shirt and pulling it loose of the other boy’s pants, he’s not thinking through sliding his hand up and under so he can lay his fingers against the superheated skin just above Mikoshiba’s belt. Mikoshiba is whimpering with each breath, funny little panting sounds that Nozaki is pretty sure are as unthought as his motions, and then there’s a tug at Nozaki’s tie, Mikoshiba wrapping his fingers in the cloth and pulling, and Nozaki falls entirely forward so for a minute Mikoshiba is taking his full weight against the wall. He lets his hold on Mikoshiba’s hair go, lays his palm flat against the wall to help support himself, but when he tries to pull back he can’t make himself go any distance at all. It’s like Mikoshiba has him on a line, like Nozaki can only get far enough that when they inhale they’re drawing on the same air.

“Nozaki,” Mikoshiba blurts. Nozaki recognizes the manic edge under the words, the cant of Mikoshiba’s head like he’s angling for another kiss that says he’s not thinking about what he’s saying at all. He can feel Mikoshiba’s breathing coming fast and panting under his fingers, fluttering across his stomach like ripples over a pond. “Nozaki, I want --”

He hesitates. Nozaki can see the panic coming on the horizon, can feel it drawing Mikoshiba tense and silent instead of warm and pliant, so he leans in again, dips his head in sideways so he can press his mouth in just under Mikoshiba’s ear, where his nose bumps in against the other boy’s earring. Mikoshiba’s head drops sideways against the wall, his sentence fades off into a shaky sigh at the contact. Nozaki isn’t sure he’s going to go on speaking after all and doesn’t care, as long as the fingers tentatively feeling their way under the collar of his shirt don’t stop their exploration. Then he parts his lips, touches the very tip of his tongue to the faint salt of Mikoshiba’s skin, and the other boy takes a gasping inhale and says, “I want to  _lick_  you.”

Nozaki knows what he means just from the way the verb draws heavy with implication, even before the ripple of distraction under his fingers draws taut with panic, even before he can feel the glow of Mikoshiba’s perpetual blush warm his skin secondhand. He draws back, keeps his hand pressed in against Mikoshiba’s waist to keep him in place in case the other boy decides that flight is the best response to this. Mikoshiba’s eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth turned down into a grimace of self-conscious embarrassment, and as soon as Nozaki pulls back he lets his hold on Nozaki’s neck go in favor of bringing his arm up over his face in a futile effort to cover his blush.

“Oh my god,” he starts, his voice jumping up into a high wail. “I’m --”

“That sounds good,” Nozaki says. He’s not speaking as loudly but his voice is lower, rumbles through his chest and out into the fingers still braced at Mikoshiba’s hip, and the other boy goes silent. All Nozaki can see of his face is his mouth, and that’s working soundlessly as if Mikoshiba is silently repeating back Nozaki’s words, or maybe just trying out different responses until he finds one to suit.

“Right now?” Nozaki suggests before Mikoshiba has decided what he wants to do. He can see Mikoshiba suck in a sharp open-mouthed breath; then the other boy’s arm comes up, ruffling his hair up as he peeks out from under it. His blush is fading into wide-eyed shock, the first edge of what might be fright but melts into interest when he blinks and his eyes go shadowed, when he swallows so hard Nozaki can hear his throat working.

“Yeah?” he offers, tentatively as if he’s the one making the suggestion instead of Nozaki. Nozaki doesn’t smile, bites back the affectionate amusement percolating under his skin; instead he nods, solemn and steady as he can manage, and slides his fingers around until he can press the flat of his hand in against Mikoshiba’s back and draw the other boy up off the wall. The friction of his hand does what his expression didn’t, pushes away the worst of Mikoshiba’s flustered nerves so his eyelashes flutter in involuntary reaction, so he starts to sigh an exhale of pleasure before Nozaki gently pushes at his shoulder to urge him sideways so they can switch positions. Mikoshiba moves before he thinks, steps away from the wall so Nozaki can twist around and press his shoulders in against the support before the other boy goes still and panicked with awareness of what they’re about to do.

With his back braced against the wall Nozaki lets himself relax, watches the uncertainty freeze Mikoshiba’s expression into wide-eyed fright for moment; then he moves his hand up, curls his fingers to press into Mikoshiba’s shoulder in a grip instead of just a touch. That shocks Mikoshiba’s gaze back into focus on his face, drops his mouth open on an unvoiced question, and Nozaki leans in on impulse to kiss the soft curve of Mikoshiba’s lower lip before the other boy can say anything. He can feel Mikoshiba lose track of his worry, can feel the other boy’s focus on his uncertainty drain away in the way he tips his head in for the contact, the way a whimper for more spills from his throat unconsciously. Mikoshiba’s hold on Nozaki’s clothes goes slack, his fingers drag down to settle at the other boy’s hips with the graceful elegance he always attains when he’s not thinking. Nozaki tips his weight back against the wall, pulls Mikoshiba in towards him by his hold on the other boy’s shoulder, and Mikoshiba takes the extra control the angle gives him, opens his mouth wider and slides his tongue just past Nozaki’s lips as tentatively as if he’s expecting the other boy to pull away.

Nozaki doesn’t pull away. He hums appreciation, keeps his hold on Mikoshiba’s shoulder while he slides his fingers free of the other boy’s stomach so he can work his own pants open one-handed. Mikoshiba’s fingers keep drawing tense at his hips and then loosening, fluttering in time with the slide of the other boy’s conscious thought in and out of focus. It’s like he’s trembling through waves of heat and panic alternately, tension snapping into place for a moment before Nozaki purrs, or licks, or squeezes his shoulder, and the distraction pushes the nerves back and away again. By the time Nozaki’s got his belt undone and his slacks open, Mikoshiba is pressed flat against him, rocking up into his hip with the instinctive rhythm he only ever shows when he’s truly distracted. He doesn’t even hesitate when Nozaki does pull back, just leans forward to rest his head on Nozaki’s shoulder so the heat of his breathing warms the other boy’s skin straight through the cloth.

“Mikoshiba,” Nozaki says, careful with the syllables so they come out as the other boy’s proper name instead of Nozaki’s personal endearment. “Do you want me to touch you?”

He means the offer sincerely, reaches out to touch at the bottom of the other boy’s shirt and start to push it back up over his skin again, but Mikoshiba jumps like he’s being chastised, like he’s just remembering what he’s supposed to be doing.

“No!” His hand shifts sideways, jerks from Nozaki’s hip up to grab at the bottom edge of his shirt as if to hold the other boy in place.

Nozaki’s hands still. “You  _don’t_  want me to touch you.”

“What?” Mikoshiba blinks at Nozaki, his fingers curl into an idle fist around Nozaki’s shirt. “Well, yeah, I mean, of course I do.”

“You said you didn’t,” Nozaki points out without moving his hands.

“Well, I mean, I want to touch you  _first_ ,” Mikoshiba says, and this time Nozaki doesn’t fight back his grin at the color that starts to flush Mikoshiba’s face as his words die into silence.

“Okay,” he agrees. Mikoshiba glances up at his face, catches Nozaki’s gaze for just a moment; his eyes are wide, dark with trembling heat that knocks all the words out of Nozaki’s head so he goes as quiet as the other boy. He bites his lip, the tell for his serious consideration of a problem; then the hand at Nozaki’s shirt tugs down, like Mikoshiba’s trying to brace himself, and the other boy is dropping to his knees before Nozaki has a chance to realize what he’s doing. Nozaki tips his chin down; Mikoshiba’s not looking at him, he’s still chewing on his lip while he curls his fingers over the top edge of Nozaki’s boxers. Nozaki can feel the other boy’s hands shaking against him, but if anything the motion of Mikoshiba pulling his clothes down is faster than he expects, rushed from the nerves thrumming under his skin. Nozaki sucks in a sharp breath as the motion pulls at him in the moment before his clothes come free; then there’s just cool air against him, the faint warmth of Mikoshiba’s startled exhale, and when he looks down the other boy is staring at his bare skin with his eyes wide and lips parted.

It ought to be funny, at least a little. Mikoshiba looks more than anything like he’s not sure what to do, and Nozaki could draw his fingers up into the other boy’s hair and stroke away the worst of the panic, urge the other boy into movement. Instead there’s a burst of heat under Nozaki’s skin, a breathtaking flood of adrenaline at the look in Mikoshiba’s eyes or the moisture clinging to his lip or just the angle he’s at, the submission inherent to his position on his knees, and Nozaki can’t quite breathe and can’t remember how to move his hand. He’s stalled out, his hand frozen against Mikoshiba’s shoulder, and he’s still trying to remember how to blink when Mikoshiba takes a deep, desperate breath and brings his mouth forward to take Nozaki past his lips.

Nozaki makes a sound so far back in his throat it’s more of buzz against his mouth than a sound proper. Mikoshiba doesn’t seem to hear it at all; his forehead is creased in concentration, Nozaki can feel the shift of his lips and the motion of his tongue as he adjusts his angle. The other boy’s fingers come back up to Nozaki’s hips, steady there like he’s holding Nozaki in place, and when he comes in a little farther Nozaki groans, loud enough that Mikoshiba’s gaze jumps up, that the other boy starts to pull back and away.

Nozaki’s fingers are against the back of Mikoshiba’s head instantly, too fast for anything but instinct to achieve. “ _Don’t_ ” and he sounds older, his voice lower and rougher than he has ever sounded to himself. His fingers tighten for a moment; then he pulls his hand away with a conscious effort of will, drags his fingers up through his hair instead of grabbing a fistful of Mikoshiba’s to drag him forward forcibly. He still can’t look away; Mikoshiba is staring up at him, his lips still just against Nozaki’s length, and Nozaki’s heart is thudding so fast he’s not sure he’s going to be remember this scene with the clarity it deserves.

He forces himself to take a breath. “Please don’t stop.” The words are forced into calm; he can still hear the strain under them, but Mikoshiba either doesn’t or recognizes it as the encouragement it actually is. He swallows without pulling away and Nozaki can feel the flicker of increased tension, whimpers unintentionally at the sensation. Mikoshiba flushes instantly crimson, as if his embarrassment is tied more to Nozaki’s reactions than his own, but then he drags his gaze down and brings his mouth back in, fast like he’s afraid he’s going to lose his nerve, and Nozaki can’t spare the thought for Mikoshiba’s blush under the wave of heat that hits him. Everything is warm and wet-slick friction, all his attention is drawing down until his world in encompassed in the space between Mikoshiba’s lips, and then Mikoshiba does something with his tongue, licks or sucks or maybe flicks against Nozaki’s length, and Nozaki’s hands come back down without his intention.

“Let me see you,” he’s saying, too fast for any chance to review his words. “Let me see your face, Mikorin.” He’s pushing back the other boy’s hair, holding it from his face so he can see the crimson flush riding high across Mikoshiba’s cheekbones and turning his eyes soft and shy. Nozaki’s fingers fit around Mikoshiba’s ear, his thumb settles in to warm itself on the heat of Mikoshiba’s blush. When he says “Look at me,” it comes out as more of an order than he intended, the words collecting heat from the inside of Mikoshiba’s mouth and depth from the vibrating pleasure rising under his skin. Mikoshiba obeys instantly, looking up to meet Nozaki’s gaze before he can panic himself out of the action, and then Nozaki’s got his attention, Mikoshiba doesn’t look away even as he starts to color dark under the other boy’s consideration. He makes some noise, coherency lost to the shift of his tongue and the press of his lips until it just turns into sensation humming against Nozaki’s length, and the other boy lets out a breath he had forgotten he was holding.

“Keep going,” Nozaki urges without moving his hand. Mikoshiba is finding a rhythm in spite of his embarrassment, matching the movement of his head to the shift of his tongue until Nozaki is sure he couldn’t do better even if he were directing him. “Just keep going, you’re --” Mikoshiba closes his lips tight again, sucks experimentally, and Nozaki’s words cut off into a groan. “ _Ah_. You’re perfect, don’t stop.” His fingers come up, shove Mikoshiba’s hair back from his forehead, and when the other boy hums against him again Nozaki’s fingers clutch inadvertently tight. “Don’t stop,” he says again, higher and faster, and his shoulders come forward off the wall as he curls in, as his other hand comes in against Mikoshiba’s shoulder. “Keep going, don’t stop,” and then the words are going, he’s losing coherency. Nozaki takes a desperate inhale, ragged and overheated, and then Mikoshiba blinks and shifts his tongue again, and Nozaki’s attention tangles into the flutter of his eyelashes and topples over into the thoughtless rush of pleasure. He makes some sound, a groan or a sigh or a whimper, and when he jerks involuntarily against Mikoshiba’s mouth the other boy’s fingers tighten on his hips but he doesn’t pull away. Mikoshiba doesn’t move while Nozaki shudders through his orgasm; then Nozaki loosens his hold on the other boy’s hair, lets his hand slide down to match his other against Mikoshiba’s shoulder, and the other boy carefully pulls away. The drag of his lips even as he pulls away is almost too much, sends burning prickles of aftershock quivering down Nozaki’s spine, and as his mouth comes free Nozaki has to lean in hard against him to keep from falling.

“Wow,” he says as he regains his balance. The unusual depth is still curling at the corners of his mouth, turning his voice dark and shadowed as Mikoshiba swallows hard, wrinkles his nose in involuntary reaction to the taste. Nozaki lets the other boy go for a moment, just long enough that he can tug his clothes more or less back into place; then he lets himself slide down the wall, drops to eye-level with Mikoshiba, and angles his legs wide. “Come here.”

Mikoshiba stares at him like he doesn’t understand the words for a moment, but when Nozaki reaches for his shirt he blinks himself into understanding, and when Nozaki pulls Mikoshiba half-topples forward, settles a hand in against Nozaki’s shoulder and one against his waist like he’s holding himself up. He’s still a little too far away; Nozaki grabs at his hip, drags the other boy forward a few inches, and Mikoshiba is just taking a startled breath at the movement when Nozaki lets him go and reaches for the front of his pants instead.

The first brush of contact has Mikoshiba rocking forward, coming up onto his knees with a sound Nozaki  _knows_  was unintentional just from how desperate it sounded. Nozaki brings his other hand down, presses the palm of his hand in against the other boy; the pressure makes Mikoshiba whine, rock in hard against him while Nozaki unfastens his belt and works on his button. Mikoshiba’s fingers come against Nozaki’s shoulders; his hands are still shaking, trembling with adrenaline and hot to the touch, and Nozaki can feel them clench into nearly-a-fist as he pulls his palm back and gets Mikoshiba’s zipper open. He’s looking up, now, instead of down, he’s cast in the same shadow that’s turning Mikoshiba’s flush shadowed instead of pink, but he can still see the way Mikoshiba’s lips part, the way he sucks in a breath of anticipation as Nozaki fits his hand inside his clothes.

“Nozaki,” Mikoshiba starts, but Nozaki doesn’t wait for the rest of the words. He has barely heard his name when his fingers brush over Mikoshiba’s length, when he orients his movements and wraps his fingers around the other boy, and whatever Mikoshiba was going to say dissolves into an exhale that sounds nearly as pained as it does relieved.

“Are you okay?” Nozaki asks, waits for another wave of darker color to wash over Mikoshiba’s cheeks, waits for the other boy’s teeth to catch on his lip before he nods sharply. That’s as much coherency as he’s likely to get, he knows, and it’s enough anyway. He strokes up over Mikoshiba, drawing his hand slow and considering while he pushes the other boy’s clothes down with his other, and Mikoshiba shivers, his fingers flex harder against Nozaki’s shoulders like he’s trying to brace himself. Nozaki keeps his chin tipped up so he can watch self-consciousness chase pleasure across Mikoshiba’s face, watch the embarrassed blush climb higher on the other boy’s cheeks until Mikoshiba forgets to bite his lip, forgets to remember that Nozaki’s watching him, forgets to hold himself back from rocking into Nozaki’s touch. His eyes are still open but hazy with distraction, fixed on Nozaki’s mouth with more a lack of attention than deliberate focus, and his grip is so tight it’s nearly painful, Nozaki is taking more and more of Mikoshiba’s weight as he increases the pace of his strokes. When he rests his free hand against the other boy’s waist to steady him Mikoshiba lets out his breath in startled pleasure at the contact, the edge of a smile pulls at his mouth; Nozaki’s gaze drops, fixes on that softness, and he’s just thinking about reaching for a kiss when it fades off and Mikoshiba’s mouth falls open. Mikoshiba takes a huge breath, deep and stuttering in his throat, he leans in hard against Nozaki’s shoulders; then he shudders, and groans, and the tension ripples out of him as he comes against Nozaki’s fingers.

Mikoshiba falls forward before he’s even caught his breath, going boneless and slumping in against Nozaki like holding himself up is too much effort. His mouth ends up just against Nozaki’s neck, and his breath tickles a little but Nozaki doesn’t think of doing anything but smiling. He lets Mikoshiba’s hip go, fits his arm in around the other boy’s back, and after a moment Mikoshiba relaxes into the support, tips sideways so Nozaki is taking his weight on his arm as well as his shoulders. Nozaki drops his other arm out sideways so he won’t get either of them messier than they already are for the moment while Mikoshiba catches his breath and Nozaki lets warm satisfaction seep languid into his blood.

It’s a few minutes before either of them speak, and it’s Mikoshiba who breaks the quiet first. “Nozaki?”

“Yeah.” Nozaki’s eyes are open but he’s not looking at anything in particular as much as he’s staring blankly at the opposite wall. Mikoshiba’s words are very warm against his skin.

“Did you call me  _Mikorin_?”

Nozaki blinks. “Yeah.”

“ _Why_?”

“I always do in my head.” Nozaki considers this explanation, offers slightly more clarification. “I always have.”

There is a moment of absolute silence. Then Mikoshiba makes a tiny whimpering sound and tips his head in farther against Nozaki’s neck. Nozaki can feel the heat as Mikoshiba starts to blush again, and when he starts to smile himself it’s just as warm with affection.


End file.
